confidence, and supplant me by the excess of his zeal to render me
services.

The remembrance of Carrion makes me recollect one of my country
neighbors, of whom I should be inexcusable not to speak, as I have to
make confession of an unpardonable neglect of which I was guilty towards
him: this was the honest M. le Blond, who had done me a service at
Venice, and, having made an excursion to France with his family, had
taken a house in the country, at Birche, not far from Montmorency.

[When I wrote this, full of my blind confidence, I was far from
suspecting the real motive and the effect of his journey to Paris.]

As soon as I heard he was my neighbor, I, in the joy of my heart, and
making it more a pleasure than a duty, went to pay him a visit. I set
off upon this errand the next day. I was met by people who were coming
to see me, and with whom I was obliged to return. Two days afterwards I
set off again for the same purpose: he had dined at Paris with all his
family. A third time he was at home: I heard the voice of women, and
saw, at the door, a coach which alarmed me. I wished to see him, at
least for the first time, quite at my ease, that we might talk over what
had passed during our former connection.

In fine, I so often postponed my visit from day to day, that the shame of
discharging a like duty so late prevented me from doing it at all; after
having dared to wait so long, I no longer dared to present myself. This
negligence, at which M. le Blond could not but be justly offended, gave,
relative to him, the appearance of ingratitude to my indolence, and yet I
felt my heart so little culpable that, had it been in my power to do M.
le Blond the least service, even unknown to himself, I am certain he